Author: stein28

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February Sucks

I stay away from Facebook memories, especially this time of year. I don’t need them to remind me of how terrible things were. How much sickness and angst and worry and fear we were all going through. February through May are impossible. February is the anniversary of my father’s death. I remember how heartbroken Ariella was. We were on the way to her dance class when my aunt called to share the horrible news. I immediately turned the car around and went home where I told David and we all just held each other. Ariella was so close to her Pop-Pop. He played countless games of Candyland with her (and I don’t think he cheated with her like he did with me so I would win to end the games sooner) and silly games that she made up. He made the same dumb dad jokes he did with me, thrilled to have a new audience to appreciate them. She missed him when he was in Florida and asked to see him all the time when he was in town. She was devastated when he died. She felt guilty because she didn’t respond to his last text message. She frequently read it and did respond after he died, and she would often call his phone to leave a message on his voicemail telling him how much she loved and missed him.

February is the anniversary of Ariella’s diagnosis. I wanted to do something fun for the month of Valentine’s Day. Each morning before she woke up I was going to tape a heart on the door with a trait written on it that Ariella exhibited, such as funny, loving, generous, etc. I didn’t realize that by the 3rd day I would be writing traits such as strong, resilient, fierce, fighter, brave. Because even though we pretty much knew a day or so prior, February 3rd, after a full day of tests and exams, was the day we were told definitively “Ariella has cancer”.

February was the last month Ariella ever danced. It was the last month in 2017 she danced before her treatment started and after she eased back into it, it was the last month in 2019 that she ever danced. Ever.

February is the anniversary of Ariella’s bone marrow transplant, the beginning of the end, though of course we didn’t know that at the time. We were filled with hope, that this was the answer to keep those pesky cancer cells from returning. If only.

If you ask me how I am, I always say “I’m okay”, “hanging in there”, “taking it one day at a time.” I am hanging in and I am taking it day by day or sometimes hour by hour, minute by minutes. But though I may look and seem okay, I am not. I’ve just learned how to fake it, how to cover it up. We’re nearing three years without our girl and it doesn’t get easier, or it hasn’t yet for me. I still beg and plead to be taken early. I don’t feel the need to be here. Not only do I not fear death but I still would welcome it so I can be with Ariella and free from this constant, relentless ache. I still cannot fathom that this is my life. That I had a daughter. That I had a daughter with cancer. That I no longer have a living daughter. It doesn’t feel real and yet it feels all too real. It feels like a lifetime, it feels like a minute. Flashbacks to those days in the hospital, the truly horrible moments, make my heart pound and and my breath quicken, like I am physically there. Like I never left. Thinking about the happy moments make me smile and cry at the same time. Thinking of what we had and what we will never get to experience. What Ariella never got to experience. Thinking of her beautiful flame being extinguished way too soon. That we will never hear her infectious laugh or feel the warmth of her hugs. How could such a lively, exuberant girl be gone? It doesn’t seem possible. When I think of the many years I have ahead of me I feel physically sick. I don’t want to suffer through 40 more years. I don’t want to suffer for another minute. And yet somehow I do. Somehow it’s been 5 years from diagnosis, 3 years from bone marrow transplant and almost 3 years without her extraordinary soul here on Earth. This is not to say I haven’t had my moments of enjoyment and things to look forward to. I have. But they just aren’t enough.

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Running Towards Memories

On this frigid but beautiful sunny day, my marathon training took me to the BWI Airport bike path. As I was getting myself together to run 16 miles I was able to watch the sunrise and planes land. I don’t thank the weather app was right about the actual feel because it wasn’t windy. Though the temp was lower it felt better than last week’s long run, which was quite windy.

I have only been to this bike path once, with David and Ariella. We took her there to ride bikes. At the time we weren’t sure she could manage the more than 10-mile loop but she was a tough and fearless 8-year-old girl and did so with no problems. Though it has been almost 6 years since biking the path, I was running towards memories as I made my way around the loop. I remembered the horse we said hi too and then sitting on the bench nearby for a little break. Could one of the horses I saw today be the same one?

I remembered the long, steep hill she rode up without stopping, with not only David and me cheering her on but others on the path. Remembering Ariella’s strength going up that hill is how I got up that hill today. But of course remembering Ariella’s strength always is what gets me through tough times.

I remembered the nervousness I felt that she would crash into another person, or would fall when crossing an intersection. I remembered the wooden bridges and the overpass like it was yesterday. I remembered the relief that I felt when we completed the loop, making it unscathed. Had you asked me to describe the path before running today I would have vaguely mentioned a couple hills and horses. But while out there experiencing it once again it was as familiar to me as my own neighborhood. And it was both painful and beautiful. Because it felt like she was there with me, cheering me on like we had once cheered her on.

There’s not much to do but think when on long runs. My mind drifts but today Ariella was with me the entire way.

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Vacation

I’ve been wanting to write about my vacation since we got home but just hadn’t gotten to it. Not sure why. I had plenty of time considering my winter break was extended but for some reason when I have nothing to do it’s even harder to be productive. As much as I did not want the extended break because those days will be added to the end of the school year, it was nice to be home with nothing to do. But now, with this snow day I am officially bored and figured it was finally time to write about our trip.

As always, it feels good to get away. It doesn’t lessen the pain of missing Ariella but going to a place that is not fraught with memories helps to soften the edges of grief. We started our vacation in Delray Beach, FL where we got to spend time with my aunt and David’s grandmother. We don’t see them enough and it was good to be with family. We didn’t have to put on any kind of act or brave face, we just had to enjoy each others’ company. I made sure to get my run in, we paid a visit to the beach, and had some tasty meals (Chinese food on Christmas Eve; can’t go wrong there). But mostly we were just together.

On Christmas day we headed to Ft. Lauderdale to spend the evening with a friend and her girlfriend. I have mentioned before about how grief changes relationships in many ways. Some relationships don’t survive but others grow and you find people there for you that you wouldn’t necessarily expect. This friend we visited wasn’t a close friend. We all went to school together but our relationship didn’t really go beyond that. But she has reached out sincerely many times since Ariella died and we have learned that she will always be someone we can rely on for support. We had a nice evening on her roof just shooting the shit and enjoying sushi and again just hanging out with no expectations. The thing about making or growing friendships after a traumatic event is that they don’t know who you were before so they can’t see how you’ve changed. No pressure to be the carefree people we were before.

After our visit with our friends it was time to head down to the keys. We spent a night in Key Largo where I got David on a paddleboard and we had a brief visit from a manatee. The place we stayed was a neat little resort with our own little bungalow right on the beach. We had dinner on the water, I of course got my run in the next morning, and our entire stay was peaceful.

Finally it was time to head to our final destination, Key West. The drive was easy and while we had a great trip until then, it was nice to know we were going to stay put for a few days. There was a stark difference between Key Largo and Key West, with Key West bustling with much more activity, especially in the downtown area. We did all the touristy things; the southernmost point of course (David made me wait in line for a picture, I would have been happy taking a picture at the southernmost bar) and next to that was a menorah so we decided to take a picture as the southernmost Jews as well, the butterfly conservatory where I had a friend land on my head, sign from Ariella? It did land where a unicorn horn would be…, Hemingway’s house with the many 6-toed cats, Truman’s Little White House, and of course meandering along Duval St.

We were certainly not idle in Key West. I continued to get in my runs which were so nice to do along the water with flat terrain. It was hot, even early in the morning, but it was great to not have to think about what to wear or layer up and I could just enjoy the lovely surroundings. We went kayaking through the mangroves one day where we saw manatees, nurse sharks, and lots of jellyfish, and spent hours biking around the island another. We saw a beautiful sunset with three birds (another sign from Ariella) and took a ghost tour where we learned about the darker side of the island’s history.

Though we kept busy we also were able to relax by the pool and just enjoy the calm. That’s not to say there was no sadness this trip. Though this was not a place we had been before it was easy to imagine Ariella there with us. We would have spent hours in Hemingway’s House to see all the cats. She would have stopped to pet every dog that passed by. She would have been on the paddleboard and kayak and ridden her bike alongside us (who am I kidding, she would have left me in the dust on the bike-that kid was fearless). She would have been in awe at the butterfly conservatory and the ghost tour would have been her idea. Watching other families have amazing vacations feels like a sucker punch right in the gut. This vacation was proof that joy can exist with sadness and pain but those moments of happiness are fleeting and the pain often overrides.

Our trip home was a clusterfuck from the moment we arrived at the Key West airport. The security line was the length of the airport, the departure board wasn’t updated regularly, and I don’t think a single flight took off on time. The waiting area was standing room only and barely even that. We were cutting it close for our connection but would have made it had they been able to get the jetway to the plane and open the door in a timely manner (took at least 15 minutes after we arrived at the gate). We sprinted to our gate with ~10 minutes until departure (reinforcing that sprinting and distance running are two very different beasts and I am not a sprinter) to find the plane still there but the gate closed. We were both furious because we were on the ground while the flight was still boarding and there were 5 of us trying to make that flight. They should have held the plane. Anyway, they didn’t and fortunately we were able to get on a flight a couple hours later. We made some friends that had also missed the connection and had some food and drinks in the bar. Ultimately I think missing our flight may have been another sign from Ariella. While in the airport in North Carolina I texted a friend that we met at our bereaved parents retreats that we have gotten close to. They live in North Carolina but I knew they had been away as well. I was curious if they were still on vacation and it turns out they had just landed when I texted! Not only that they were deboarding at a gate right by ours. So we got to have a lovely, albeit brief reunion in the airport. Most of the vacation it was nice to be just us, not the bereaved parents. But there were times I wanted to shout “MY CHILD IS DEAD!” It is just so surreal to do “normal” things with others having no idea of the turmoil inside. So seeing our friends, this beautiful family in the airport, gave me that brief moment of being with someone who just knows and who feels the same, without having to talk about it. So maybe I needed that and maybe that’s why we missed our connection (sorry to the others who missed that flight!). We left with plans for a weekend together in the near future and then finally made our way home.

This was a much needed getaway and did both of us a world of good. The pain doesn’t go away just because our location changes but being out of normal routine in a place that doesn’t have memories tied to it is certainly a refreshing change.

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Just Run

7:00 Saturday morning. Still dark with just enough light at the horizon to hint at the sun beginning to rise. Gathering with the running group to prepare for our scheduled 10-mile run. I don’t really know anyone in the group yet but chat with others while waiting to begin the run. As we start off I have no idea of anyone’s pace, whether I will be running with or near anyone. But it doesn’t matter. The camaraderie in knowing we are all there for the same purpose holds me accountable. We are running in an area I have never run before. The sky is beginning to lighten and we are surrounded by trees. It’s cool and overcast, the perfect running weather.

Runners are running various distances on this out and back course. We start as a group heading down the steep hill and quickly settle into our personal paces. I found myself alone much of the time on this run but not really. Plenty of other runners and walkers and even a couple of dogs. There were runners ahead and behind and mostly I just focused on the beauty of the world around me. The course may have been out and back but there was nothing ordinary about it. As I was running along the curvy road up and down the gigantic hills I couldn’t help but notice the splendor of the trees, the peacefulness of the reservoir, and the stillness. Much needed respite from the chaos of the world. On this run I was listening to my Peloton playlist (when on the bike you can “like” songs and they will then be put in a playlist on Spotify). The music was quite random, ranging from pop to rock, to 90s hip hop, to punk, to new wave, to Broadway, to classical. I love running to classical music, especially on long, easy runs. The classical songs that played on my run served as the perfect soundtrack to running in my picturesque surroundings. The music allowed me to run without distraction and just enjoy being in the moment.

The course was challenging but flying down those steep hills brought some joy. Memories of being a child with no limitations and no fear. Doing everything at top speed with no fear of falling. Running fast downhill brought a sense of freedom and flight, like I was temporarily escaping the pain and pressures on Earth. The moments were brief but exhilarating. Of course after every downhill there was a steep uphill, but oh what a sense of accomplishment as I crested the top and got to soar once again.

It felt great to gather with the others after the run and just share some of the experience, knowing that while we all have the same goal (to run a marathon) ultimately we are there for different reasons. And for now this is the place where I am just “me”. Not the bereaved mother, not the person wearing a mask pretending all is fine, but someone just there to run. Maybe my story will come out later, maybe not. In the meantime, I am going to just run.

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Retreat (Part 3)

This past weekend was bereaved parents retreat part 2 (welI really part 3, since David and I had been to two prior, but this was supposed to be part 2 of our most recent retreat this past August). I wasn’t sure I was going to blog about this past weekend because the retreat didn’t go as anticipated and I don’t want to upset anyone. When we met in August, so much time was spent sharing our stories that we didn’t have any time for workshops and to talk about specific topics. Many of us expressed that we would have liked more time for those kinds of things and so our incredible host invited us to continue the discussion at another retreat. My dissatisfaction with the weekend is not at all the fault of our host as she also was disappointed to hear how it was going for those of us who had been there in August and did everything she could to help us get the most out of it. If you are reading this, I want you to know that I appreciate so much being invited back and am grateful for the opportunity to once again be in a place where we could just be raw and authentic without judgment. Though it wasn’t as expected and not what we came for, there were many beautiful poignant, and meaningful moments that carried me through.

We headed down on my birthday. I don’t really acknowledge my birthday, don’t feel like I have much to celebrate other than it’s one year closer to being reunited with Ariella. I typically ask for signs from Ariella on my birthday but even forgot to do that. At the end of the day I was feeling bummed that I had not received a sign from her, but then I realized two things happened that could be construed as signs (as much as I look for signs I am still skeptical). The first was that a friend asked me if I gave Ariella my middle name (Joy) because she saw a sign at a restaurant that said “Ariella Joy”. That isn’t her middle name but the fact that it is mine and that Ariella is not a common name, prompted my friend to text me, so it could have been Ariella saying I’m here on your birthday. The second event was on the plane. Never on a single flight that I have been on has the flight crew asked if it was anyone’s birthday. The one time it occurred it happened to be my birthday (plus two others on the plane). So an entire plane of people sang “Happy Birthday” to us, with one person singing the cha cha chas, which Ariella always did as well. Ariella hated when people sang to her but loved it when it was for others (she told a restaurant that it was her cousin’s birthday so they would sing to him even though it wasn’t actually his birthday) so getting an entire plane to sing would be up her alley. And though not a sign from Ariella, I received a lovely, thoughtful gift from a friend at the retreat which both made me smile and brought tears to my eyes. A beautiful reminder that we are all here for each other for the hard times and the celebratory moments that are tinged with pain.

So the retreat. I’m not going to go into significant depth here. There is a sense of liberation when amongst a group of people with shared grief and experiences. Freedom from pretending to be okay, freedom from hiding our pain, freedom from worrying how your own grief will affect others, freedom from judgment. As soon as we were with the others it felt like instead of being suffocated by grief, it was shrouding all of us, together. Still there but a little lighter since it was spread more thin. There is relief in being able to share that burden. This coming together was ultimately what this weekend was about so in the end, it was worthwhile and meaningful, even if it took a bit to get there.

Those of us who had been at the retreat in August were expecting more conversation and workshops or breakout sessions. There is so much power in sharing our grief stories but it is also very emotionally taxing. While some weight is lifted when sharing your own story, that happens because everyone else begins taking on that grief, sharing in the burden. And many stories mirror our own, triggering the memories of our hardest times. Sending me right back to the hospital room. The tubes and wires. The beeping of the machines. Ariella’s pain and fear. Her last breaths. There is value and purpose in sharing stories, but we had done this before. We were expecting to discuss topics such as grieving differently from your spouse, changing roles, new identities, finding purpose, getting coping skills. We were looking for facilitated discussion with specific focus. And unfortunately for us, that isn’t what we got. I do not by any means want to take away from the experience the others had in sharing their stories. They hadn’t done this before and it is so important to be able to share without judgment, without interruption, to just say everything you need to say. With this retreat there were basically two groups, both with people who knew each other in some manner but one group who had done this before and one who hadn’t. That makes it difficult to make full group activities meaningful for everyone.

One of the planned activities was making a craft to represent our child and then sharing with the group. Crafts are not my thing and this was something I was not comfortable doing. Some others also chose not to do this so we were able to take that time to facilitate our own discussions. And this is what made the weekend so powerful for me. This wasn’t just conversation, it was sharing our thoughts or feelings on very specific topics and giving advice if asked, or just listening if not. It was understanding that we are not alone, not just in the shared trauma of our children dying, but in ways that we react and live and avoid and hide and cope and survive. The pain bereaved parents endure is scary. The dark, dark feelings are terrifying and knowing that others have felt the same and have come out of it allows us to have those feelings while reassuring ourselves that they won’t last forever, we will survive them. Our host encouraged us to do what we needed to get the benefit of the weekend, so we were able to talk without guilt and could just take the time to make the weekend meaningful for us. In those discussions bonds and lifetime friendships were strengthened.

During our discussion one of the moms said she looks for “micro-therapeutic moments.” Basically finding those moments or events, no matter how tiny, that are helping us to move forward. I am doing things to help me find some gladness and purpose, but I was never looking at them like that. Seeing them in a new light, to understand that they aren’t just keeping me busy but are helping me to find new meaning and grow as an individual and as part of a couple. Reminding myself that it’s okay to see beauty amongst pain, that it’s okay to not let myself suffer.

I was unsettled by the assumption of Christianity in this retreat (not by the host but by the organization facilitating the activities), in some of the activities and in some of the gifts we received. There are many bereaved parents that find comfort in religion (whether it’s Christianity or something else) and sometimes I am jealous of that faith. Maybe having such strong convictions would bring me some comfort and peace. There are others who are now very angry with G-d and are trying to reconcile that anger with their religious beliefs. I pretty much have given up religion since Ariella died. I find no comfort in it, and instead have a lot of anger. And I’m Jewish. So getting gifts that talk about Jesus and G-d and have Christian prayers really rubbed me the wrong way. This was not a faith-based retreat and not everyone is Christian. Having resources available for those who wanted it or having a specific breakout sessions to discuss religion and grief would be a nice way to incorporate religion without assumption. I did not for a second feel like it was being pushed on me or that I was being preached to, but in a retreat that is supposed to be for everyone I did not appreciate the assumption that everyone there was Christian.

I am glad we went to the retreat but it will likely be our last one for a while. My favorite moments were our self-facilitated breakout session and then just the moments when we were hanging out and talking about nothing in particular. I felt a little lighter when we got home knowing this wouldn’t be the last time I see some of these people and knowing that I can send a quick text to someone who “gets it” when I’m feeling particularly down. In the end I was able to share without judgement, remove the mask, and find some comfort.

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Chicago Here I Come!

This will be a short post but I think important to note. I haven’t blogged about many of the positives that have happened, but in all honesty I feel like not much great has happened for me since Ariella died. Life has had its ups and downs but since Ariella died it has just been so many more downs than ups. With our non-fruitful efforts to have another child and our dog dying and struggles at work (for both of us) there hasn’t been so much to cheer for. Things just haven’t been going my way. So I want to share when they do. May not seem like big things but for me they are. It’s these tiny things that make life bearable, that give me something to look forward to.

First, David managed to score tickets for the Foo Fighters contest in May. And not on the lawn, but actual seats. I haven’t been to a concert in a long time and I have to really love a group for me to spend the money and deal with the hassle. Tickets don’t go on sale to the public until tomorrow but David got a presale code and was able to secure tickets on Tuesday (one day after I saw that they would be in town).

Second, this just happened;

I entered thinking there was little chance I would get in. I have been selected for every race that I have entered by lottery (3 times prior to this) and thought it wouldn’t happen again. But it did! Not only is this supposed to be such a fun and fast marathon, it will continue to give me something to look forward to and a purpose, something to work for. I feel more grounded when I have something to achieve. I don’t feel quite as aimless. So Chicago, here I come (in October)!

That’s really it for the moment. I haven’t experienced many positives since Ariella died so I want to note them when I do. Kind of a reminder that with the pain there can be moments of gladness.

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Finding Meaning in Running

8:00 PM, double check my training plan, what’s on the schedule for tomorrow? Check the weather for the morning and refer to multiple apps and graphics to determine what to wear for my pre-dawn run. Lay out my clothes, not so simple for winter running. Time for the overanalyzing to begin. Need multiple options in case the weather forecast changes between now and morning (capris versus full length leggings, lined or unlined tights, how many shirts? Fleece-lined? What thickness? Do I need a shirt underneath? If I do this shirt I can go with just a vest but that shirt I need a jacket. Which socks? Calf-length wool or regular ankle length? Decision overload!

Wake-up bright and early. Well not so bright but definitely early. Check the weather again along with the apps to make sure I’ve got the right gear. Finally decide on my layers and get dressed. Head downstairs and finish getting myself ready with yes, even more decisions to make. Hat or ear-warmer? Lined or unlined? Buff for my neck or is it not needed today? Vest or jacket? Which jacket? Mittens without question. Get those extra items on, add my Garmin, headphones, reflective vest and headlamp and am finally ready to head out the door. Winter running takes a lot more preparation than any other time of year but it is worth it.

Step out the door and take in the crisp, cold air. I can see my breath. I’m feeling chilled but I know it won’t be long before I warm up. Make a couple final decisions (where do I want to run today and what do I want to listen to; music, Peloton run, podcast, or nothing (depends on my mood and type of run I’m doing)), press start on my watch, and I’m off!

I have been struggling to find meaning since Ariella died. What does anything we do, matter? What is the point of any of it? My reason for living is gone and I haven’t found new reason. I’m not happy and even if I have joyful moments they are tarnished; bits of happiness existing with exponentially more pain. I think the most I can settle for, at least for now, is some sort of peace and calm. And that’s what running gives me. Running forces me to focus on the here and now and block out the static buzzing in my brain. My long, easy runs give me time to take in the scenery, appreciate nature, and be appreciative of what my mind and body can do. I spend much of those runs thinking about Ariella, sometimes bringing tears to my eyes and sometimes a smile. I often shut off whatever I’m listening to (if anything) and just listen to the rhythm of my breath and the sound of my feet hitting the ground, the wind rustling through the trees, a dog barking in the distance. Not quite worried about pace, these runs are great for reflection or to just let my mind go blank.

What exactly is meaning? What makes a life meaningful? Is it having a purpose? Working towards a goal? In that sense, running gives me meaning. Currently my goal is to run another marathon. More specific my goal is to run a marathon with a PR and Boston qualifying time. Even when not training for a specific race, each run has its own goal. Whether it be to achieve a certain distance or pace, or just to get outside, get some miles in, get a bit of exercise, there is some purpose to every run. If I am doing these things just for me, is that really giving my life purpose? It’s giving me purpose, something to achieve, but what about greater meaning? Greater purpose? What about what I am living for. Running is not a reason for living. I still haven’t figured out my identity since Ariella died. Running gives me something to do and something to achieve, and maybe that’s enough meaning for now.

My marathon training began in earnest this past Saturday with a 10-mile run. The group training hasn’t started yet so I was solo. I felt unencumbered and at ease. I think even with the pain and discomfort often felt with running, especially during hard workouts, running is the only time I can quiet my anxious brain and feel some sense of calm. Running is not something I have to do, it’s something I get to do. And when I’m hurting and feel like I can’t go one step further I remind myself that this is a choice. Being able to run is a gift. Ariella did not have a choice in her fight. So for her I run. What better purpose is there?

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Spent

I am drowning. I am underwater and overwhelmed. And it’s not my grief submerging me. At least not completely. I have never before felt so overloaded that I actually want to quit my job. I won’t quit. Mostly I love my job and there are too many benefits for me to leave, but I keep getting dragged under and cannot seem to crawl my way out and catch up with the demands for which I am being inundated. It has been one thing after another and I wish I could just throw in the towel. And while trying to survive with a part of me missing is not the cause of this specific stress, it certainly doesn’t help me manage it.

Exhausted does not begin to describe how I’ve been feeling. I am spent. I started this post 2 weeks ago and just left it because I haven’t had the energy for writing. And writing does take energy, a different energy than working, exercising, getting through the day. I’ve had a myriad of thoughts but not the wherewithal to put them on paper. Though I always feel better after, it’s draining to process and get it all out. When I’m finished with my responsibilities for the day I just want to lay on the couch and not have to think or act.

Since Ariella died, what used to be my most favorite time of year has become my most dreaded and painful. When I once looked forward to the crisp air, sweater and boots weather, apples and pumpkin spice, I now wish I could burrow myself under the blankets and hibernate until January. This is the third fall and holiday season without Ariella’s exuberance and delight at the apple picking and hayrides and festivals. The third first day of school with no one to take a picture of. The third time the best day of my life (and now one of the most heartbreaking) has passed without Ariella celebrating another year older. The third Thanksgiving without Ariella writing a menu, making place settings, decorating, and helping to cook (for about 5 minutes before abandoning me in the kitchen). A time of year that used to feel like new beginnings and fresh starts and family now feels just empty and meaningless.

I can’t seem to finish this post. Not sure why. I think just between working and trying to survive I can’t take on much else. It’s been another week now since I started this post and the hits at work just keep on coming. It seems like I get one step closer to getting caught up then knocked 2 or 3 steps back. I try to tell myself it doesn’t matter, it will get done, in the grand scheme it’s not a big deal, but as a person with anxiety that doesn’t work for me. So while I was counting the days until Thanksgiving break, now I am counting the days until winter break.

So Thanksgiving. Not sure what to say about that. The day as a whole mostly was fine. Turkey Trot with friends and family in the morning was a good start to the day. I thought just maybe I would be okay. This was the first year since Ariella died (the 3rd Thanksgiving) that we attempted a “normal” Thanksgiving with family. And it just wasn’t good (not the fault of any of the people in attendance). No sooner did we arrive than I wanted to leave. Sitting at a table, listening to the chatter and conversation around me, no one acknowledging the missing daughter, granddaughter, cousin. Smiles and laughter and celebration and it was just wrong. I had no appetite, no desire to interact with anyone, and finally told David I had to get out of there. Pretty much ran out without saying goodbye to most people. David and I are fortunate that we have understanding family. They would have supported us if we chose not to attend at all and they supported us when we cut the evening short. I have friends in similar positions whose families aren’t so understanding. They aren’t allowed to grieve in the way the need to, to take care of their needs. They are made to feel selfish. Honestly, those grieving especially an untimely loss need to be selfish sometimes. The pain is so excruciating that the only way to protect ourselves and get through is to be selfish, avoid the events, stay home, whatever we need. On a day of thankfulness it’s awfully hard to be grateful when your child is dead. But I am thankful that I don’t have to pretend like I’m okay and fake being normal and put myself in situations that are not good for me.

David and I are going to another bereaved parents retreat. When we were invited immediately we jumped at the chance and booked our plane tickets. But there have been periods of time where I’ve had mixed feelings. These retreats are a rollercoaster of emotions and at times I’ve been wondering if I have it in me right now to let those feelings out and absorb the grief of others. In the past couple of weeks I’ve realized how much I need this retreat right now. It again won’t be easy but just the promise of reuniting with friends is what has been getting me through lately. We have also been planning a couple other trips and just having something to look forward to and keep us busy planning makes a difference. Getting away from home helps a lot. Sometimes I think it would just be easier to move away, start somewhere else, in a place that feels “normal” without Ariella. There is no right thing to do. What feels good in one moment may feel terrible in the next. Ultimately it is still just getting through the days minute by minute.

I have been taking up running a lot more lately. I was considering starting a running blog but after some thought I don’t think I need a separate place for that. This blog is about living after the death of a child and running has become a large part of my life again to help me get through the days. Getting back into running as much as I have is as much for my mental health as it is for my physical health. Actually more for my mental health. So I’ll be sharing my running journey here as well. I ran a bit in high school and college but really got into it in my late 20s/early 30s. After an injury sidelined me I was frustrated when I couldn’t get back to where I was. While I never stopped running I did decrease quite a bit because I was worried about getting injured again. I continued running recreationally but had sworn off further racing. In February 2020 I was convinced to sign up for a 10 miler that June, pretty much for the shirt. Well we all know what happened there but I did do the run virtually. When in-person racing resumed earlier this year I felt the need to be a part of it and even though the race itself was pretty miserable (the hills were so ridiculous as to be defeating) it actually felt good to be a part of something bigger, a part of a community, even though that is usually the opposite of my whole being. So here I am. Back to signing up for races, running marathons, joining a racing team and a training group. Joining a team or group by the way, is way out of my comfort zone. But while one reason I love running is because it is a solitary sport, I have recently discovered the value of also running with others. I have set some goals, with the ultimate goal to qualify for the Boston Marathon (I wasn’t too far off with the Baltimore marathon considering the pain I was in and the difficulty of the course). So that journey will also be documented here, because having a goal, having something to work towards (who am I kidding, something to obsess about) is giving me some of that purpose I have been looking for.

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What do you do when parenting ends?

When a child dies, parents grieve not only the child, but all the missed milestones, big ones as well as those that seemed so unimportant when the child was alive. We don’t just miss our child, her presence, her hugs and her voice. But we miss the future she will never have and the future we will never share. We miss watching her achieve her dreams, become independent, have a family of her own. All the things that make a parent proud, big and little, we grieve. Ariella wanted to achieve so many things. She had so many friends and ideas and activities. We never got to see her become a Bat Mitzvah, learn to drive, have her first date. All the things we were excited for for her. We have watched her friends do some of these things and have seen younger friends surpass her in age and it shatters me every time that we will never get to witness Ariella’s excitement, independence, and growth as she moves forward through the stages of life.

When your only child dies you grieve all of those not just in the context of your child, but in life in general. Not only will we never get to be the proud parents of Ariella as she becomes a Bat Mitzvah, as she tap dances at a dance competition, or watch her walk across the stage in a cap and gown. Not only will we not have the opportunity to panic while teaching her to drive, bemoan an empty nest as we drop her off at college, cry happy tears as we walk her down the aisle, or experience the joy of being grandparents as we babysit her children. We will not get to have these moments ever, at all. We didn’t just lose our daughter. We lost parenthood.

David and I have been trying in several different ways to become parents again for over two years now, and that journey, trek, road, voyage, roller coaster, whatever you want to call it, has officially come to an end. So that’s it. Our parenting experience is over. After just 11 years. Once a parent you are supposed to always be a parent. Watch your child grow to adulthood, not bury your child. I miss Ariella more than words can possibly explain and I miss being a parent just as much. And they are two very separate things. It’s hard enough being forced to live in a world without my daughter in it, but add to that that I am now an outside observer of a life I want so much to be a part of and it is just brutal. No more proud Mama moments. No more perfect fall family outings. No more silly game nights and no more carry-out and movie nights. And I’ll never get to experience what it’s like when your child is an adult, and can be your friend more than your child. Parenting was my life and I’ve had to accept that that part of my life is over. There is no silver lining that accompanies the death of a child. There is no “at least.” But being able to continue to have the parenting experience would have given my life the meaning it is so sorely missing. And the grieving process has started over again with this path definitively coming to an end. I am sad. And lost. And don’t know where to go from here.

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Grief is a Stealthy Bitch

The definition of grief, according to Mirriam-Webster: deep sadness caused especially by someone’s death. Seems quite simple. Grief, however, is anything but. Especially when it is the complicated grief of an out-of-order death, such as the death of a child. Sadness does not begin to describe the feeling of this grief. And grief changes as time goes on. It doesn’t go away. It is ever present, but not always as oppressive as it once once. It was almost easier in the earlier days. You expect to be in pain all the time. You expect to want to wallow, you expect to cry multiple times a day. You expect to be sad and broken and shattered. Grief isn’t surprising. It’s a part of you now. And though the pain is unfathomable, you know what to expect. You aren’t blindsided on a daily basis. It just, is.

As time has gone on, though the pain is still very real, I have moments where I am no longer completely consumed by grief. And this is hard. Because I don’t know when those tidal waves will appear full force, knocking me down, washing over me, threatening to drown me. several years ago in 2015 Ariella and among with some great friends discovered an acai bowl place in New Jersey, when we were there for a dance competition. We went at least three times and though there are similar places by us, none that compared to the place in NJ. Well they just opened one up in my area and I decided to head there opening day. There was a line out the door as expected but it was a cheerful mood, a sunny day, and a DJ playing some tunes. While I waited there were 3 songs played in a row that I always connect to Ariella; “High Hopes” because she loved that song and always sang it at the top of her lungs, “Shake it Off” which she danced to during the very weekend in NJ where we discovered these bowls, and “Better when I’m Dancing” which was her tap solo when she could finally dance again., and the last dance she ever performed on stage. This song was also playing as she took her last breaths. I’ve heard all of these songs many times since Ariella died but for some reason this day, the tears instantly hit and I could not stop them. There was chatter and laughter all around and here I am with tears streaming down my face. Grief is a stealthy bitch.

Grief is unpredictable. It’s hard to make plans. I worry I will regret it later. I’ve learned that I need to make sure I have my time to myself. We’ve had so much going on lately it’s been exhausting. But by continuing to run and cycle I’ve kept that outlet I very much need. And if I’ve learned nothing else in living with grief, it’s essential to do the “self care.” I do not like the term self-care. We all know self-care is important but I think it is such a buzz word now that it has lost meaning. I know in my job for example, we have professional development sessions on self-care when that time could be much better spent getting actual work done. When it becomes a chore, it’s no longer self-care. But anyway, we do need to take care of ourselves and that is especially true for person grieving and in pain. All that to say, sometimes I just can’t make the plans. I just can’t go see people. Whether it’s because I’m just exhausted by interaction (as an introvert by nature this was the case even prior to Ariella dying) or because it’s just something I cannot face (I have not been able to attend any of the Bar Mitzvot we have been invited to), I am not able to put myself in situations that I can’t easily escape. When I’m seemingly “fine” grief comes along and kicks my feet out from under me and I’m often trapped in my current situation. I never know when that may happen. It was easier when grief was just there, smothering me but leaving me with no question as to what to expect. And the stages of grief are crap. In fact, they were not described for people who have lost loved ones. They were defined for people who were the ones actually dying. So to expect to follow specific stages just makes it all the more confusing and overwhelming for those grieving and their loved ones.

We ended up having to put our dog, Sherman down. And while Sherman is not a person, taking care of him was very reminiscent of taking care of Ariella. David and I taking turns sleeping on the couch so we could be near him, help him outside, help him settle down, just like we took turns staying with Ariella in the hospital. Waiting for test results, trying to make sure he wasn’t in pain, talking to the vet about quality of life. Making the gut-wrenching decision and holding him as he took his last breaths. We had been there before. With our child. And while I never forget any of it, it brought it all back to the forefront. We should not have to grieve another loved one so soon. Especially the pet we got in our grief, to give us some purpose, to give us someone else to love. Losing a pet is NOT the same as losing a child (it really burns me up when people say that) but it is still a heartbreaking loss and just felt so horribly unfair after everything we have been through and are still going through.

You’d think that those who have been through the worst, would get a free pass for the rest of life. But we all know the universe doesn’t work that way. So life is now spent expecting the worst, waiting for the other shoe to drop, wondering what will go wrong next. It’s a pretty sad existence, but well even though people further along in their grief say there will be joy again, I have not yet found it. I have found enjoyment in moments but not happiness in everyday life.